When your neighbors text you Sunday morning offering jazz fest tickets, you say yes.
You also laugh at how sweet they are to hook you up with tickets for the past couple years.
You then look at the line up of music and conclude that you're only going for the food.
Then you decide, this should be like a day date, let's get a sitter.
You then think, yeah, who would want to babysit on this beautiful Sunday afternoon?
You take a chance and text your friend, who willingly agrees to hang out with your daughters.
You hit up the ATM before you head down to pay a ridiculous amount of money on parking
(it supported a school trip at a charter school, so it's okay that it was $25?!?)
You walk a good ways to the fairgrounds.
You then waste no time and you go straight for the best thing at jazz fest: cochon de lait po-boy.
You probably should take some pictures of it before you knock it out.
You then peruse the different craft venders and pop into the tents (blues, gospel, and jazz) and you realize you're thirsty.
You buy an overpriced Abita and an iced coffee and you walk over to Congo Square.
You try on hats that are so fabulous but too small for your head.
You enter the book fair and pick about 7 books you want to buy Avery, but you show restraint.
You run into about a dozen people you know, in a crowd of about 20,000 or more.
You realize, New Orleans is a small city; one that you dearly love.
You then convince your husband that we should really see what the hype is over this crawfish bread.
You eat it, and you get it.
You find yourself saying how much fun you're having.
You love that you're not pushing a stroller or wearing a baby for an afternoon.
You do think about how much fun the girls would be having if they did come.
You're still thankful for the break.
You walk back to the car and head home, not before capturing this picture as you turn around and bid adieu to Jazz Fest 2013.
That's what you do on a Sunday afternoon at the fairgrounds.
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